On his debut album, South African street rap frontman Maglera Doe Boy goes beyond storytelling as he intentionally uplifts Black people who still find themselves in settlements they were forced into—from the township to the diaspora. “We were moved from our Bantustans, or our tribal places, and forced to be huddled in these [new] places,” Maglera Doe Boy tells Apple Music. “And as much we see people come from other places, or from the diaspora, and they come to South Africa, because of wars or the economy—I think all of those things are diasporas; leaving your country because there's no money; there’s no food. The township is the same thing, [except that] it wasn't a choice. We were forced to go there, [so] the hood is the diaspora.” Diaspora is a measured reflection on the Black condition, taking inspiration from his ancestors who lived under harsh colonial conditions but still carried themselves with dignity. Sonically, it maintains MDB’s street grit, but, at times, the grimy trap production is varnished with enriching elements like the orchestral strings, soothing horns, and piano. Below Maglera Doe Boy (Tokelo Moyakhe) breaks down key tracks from Diaspora. “Memoirs” '‘Memoirs’ was supposed to be for Yanga Chief. I wrote the song and performed it in front of Yanga and Rich Mahogany. After a while of just him working on it, Yanga was like, 'Yo, this song is huge. I really feel like it would be an injustice for it to be anyone else's but yours.' Some of the stuff I'm speaking about is stuff I went through or stuff I saw. The slang I'm using was because of a loving of Spanish street culture.’ “Dor Do Povo” (feat. Ason) “‘Dor Do Povo’ is Mozambican Portuguese for ‘the people's pain’. ‘Dor Do Povo’ is where we've been at for a long time. It's a very sad song, but at the same time it's to celebrate that we come from these things, but we are here [now]. I'm a big fan of saying people should exist in all their feelings. But sometimes I feel like people need to take out that pain, but still dance. Ason, who comes from Mozambique, grew up in SA, feeling like a foreigner. He's also lived in America, so he's felt that a lot—[being part of] the diaspora and being treated like an illegal immigrant somewhat, even when he just wanted to make it, whether it was him playing soccer, or when he was trying to enter the art scene in South Africa. I love Latin and Portuguese music because of my history with my friends, and just hearing a lot of music like that. And I was like, ‘I want to do a new version of it.’ And, that's what that song is.” “Ascension” “I think it's like three years old; I think at that time I was like, ‘Okay, everyone's doing trap, but I've existed in the club.’ I've partied like any South African kid, but, at the same time, I really don't want to make content that is like escapism. So, I wanted to attach the track to high-level sonics. It's also one of my opera-trap inspired babies, produced by Brian O’Haze. I speak about wanting to ascend from the township to Joburg—like, levelling up, as an African and as a brown person. From my Islamic friends, to my friends from West Africa and even in the middle of this country. There's so many ways we speak about ascending as black people, and I wanted to do it in a hood sense. So it's new-age motswako mixed with opera-trap. This is just one of those things that show people my diversity as an artist. I'm not scared.” “The Running Of The Bulls” (feat. 25K) “Me and 25 are really just flexing on the song. It's a very high-fashion song. 25K comes through and takes people through the timeline of when he started rapping. And he pays homage to Bizz ATV, who is one of the originators of what we hear now in the style of Pretoria's rap. We didn't even plan it, but when I listen to it after, we literally did what Bizz and Khuli Chana did on ‘Ketane’, but in a dark, high-fashion version. I'm trying to make the generation of now understand a lot what we come from.” “Makazana” “‘Makazana’, which is slang for ‘the township’, is very close to my heart. It starts with a skit about gang violence in my township, and some of the people who are being spoken about there are some kids or OGs that I know. It's a mixture of these things, because the knife culture and the gang violence in my township has had very crazy peaks. I have personally been affected by it [within] my family, but I felt like I wanted to say to the kids in the township that it's fine to want to leave the township—but while you're here, make it beautiful. We're in the hood, but we're not escaping it mentally, and that's where we need to start.' “Goni” (feat. Miss Read & Halo Yagami) “‘Goni’ is South African street slang for a knife. At the end of ‘Makazana’, there is a skit about Capetonian knife culture. I was [recounting] the story of when Black people were first forced into working into mines. And when Black people decided to rebel against [that system], they were arrested and sent to jail and they were called gangsters—what is now called gangsterism or tsotsi. In the song, I'm just speaking about how the first Black people to hold knives weren't holding them to hurt each other. I'm very intentional on reminding dudes that we've been displaced [to townships]—but we can still make it nice. [With] the knife thing also, I was just saying [that even with] where I am in the game, I feel like the same threats that I felt in the township. I come from this. So I'm not very scared of where I'm at right now.' “Banyana” (feat. KayGizm) ‘‘Banyana’ translates to ‘women.' It is my memoirs with women, but it's very comical. It is also an homage record: It's HHP, it's I.V League, it's Zeus when he was in a suit, it's every time I saw brown people making music in suits. There’s jazz there, too; it's so rich. When it starts, I'm hitting a glass with a spoon just to announce that ‘Yo, we are outside, and let's have fun’. This is just fully me going into the brighter side of my life, and how I see it now; it's so comical for me. But it's also just my love life.' “The Suns Song” “‘The Suns Song’ is produced by my boy Easembeatz. It's me speaking to my mother when I was a child, but, also me just speaking to God about why I was given this gift, even though I was this person, and I felt like maybe I don't deserve it. It sounds like crying, but the sun's hitting your face, and you're happy. I've cried to this song a lot of times, because I've been growing into myself as an adult and accepting some stuff. And that's what it sounds like. It starts with my nephew, Lonwabo; he was on WhatsApp, and I think his father was showing him pictures of me on TV. They just sent these voice notes where he's like, 'Yo dude, send me pictures.' He's my best friend, that kid, so I just needed him to hear himself making music with his uncle.' “God is a Black Woman” “My first god is my mother. I was born in the small town of Reitz, in the Free State. I was born in this van on the way to the hospital, because my mom’s water broke while they were waiting for the neighbour to go call someone with a car, because it was a small town. I was born prematurely also; they didn’t think I was gonna make it. I believe that I was just in a rush to change the world. So, I’m saying ‘God is a Black Woman’ because I come from that circumstance. And here I am, being the first generation of my family to ever do anything other than blue-collar work.” “Thapelo” ‘My good friend Bakang has a gift for telling people messages from the stars. We've been speaking a lot about my family ,and where we come from. She was like, 'Bro, I was just told that you need to close your album with a prayer, and close it your way.’ So ‘Thapelo’ was me speaking to my ancestors, telling people about my family and where we come from. And it led to even having a conversation about where I want to be as an African in terms of the [idea of] holiness that this album sparked, with me wearing a suit because I want to move clean. It's just that holiness that I want Black people to remember. Because I feel like there's a lot of the opposite of holiness right now. We never have that moment to say, 'Hey, we're on holy land,' which is why we were always barefoot [in the township]. So Thapelo is me praying out loud; the part at the end where I sing to emulate a choir is me and KayGizm [a member of pioneering motswako group Morafe], and that is my prayer.'